The Son

  O Son of God, who, seeing two things, 
Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made, 
  By bearing one, tried’st with what stings 
The other could Thine heritage invade ; 
              O be Thou nail’d unto my heart, 
              And crucified again ; 
Part not from it, though it from Thee would part, 
But let it be by applying so Thy pain, 
Drown’d in Thy blood, and in Thy passion slain.